“For I’m bound to ride that southern railroad…”

 

 

Winston Churchill called it his “black dog”.

[I’ve never been able to listen to the Led Zeppelin song the same way, since.]

Considering I’ve lived with depression my entire life:

I find the analogy apt.

 

 

Like a loyal canine, it’s there at my every footstep.

It sleeps by my bedside.

It wakes when I do.

It demands my time.

And it waits, oh so patiently, those rare moments I’m away.

 

 

Oddly enough, it’s not the time during those bouts that get you.

Sure, they inhibit countless aspects of your life.

But you self–medicate.

[Because, after all, olde school men don’t bitch.]

 

 

However, after your place is smokier than the shoveling station of a locomotive—

After you shit blood from so much whiskey—

After you see your bank balance in negatives from having not worked in months [if not years], even having acquired a small fortune—

You realize troubles multiply exponentially and misery arrives long before the hearse you hoped prayed would.

 

 

Your answering machine is full of bill–collectors, friends that are pissed you’re “ignoring” them and family that is fed up with your “usual nonsense”.

Not to mention, the few that do catch up with you telling you that you should “just get over it. Be happy”.

It’s all you can do to keep from knocking their teeth out and asking them, as they lay semi–comatose on the floor—

If they ever tell hemophiliacs to just stop bleeding.

 

 

Ω

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15 Responses to ““For I’m bound to ride that southern railroad…””

  1. Hey man, That song, is fucking terrible, but because you wrote this post, I am going to post the two fucking things I would never say to anyone. One just happened, between Friday and Saturday nights, I hate my self for it, and that hate is not unusual, However, my family, god bless their living souls, are 4 people, and the rest are dead. THey dont know me, they think I am an alcoholic, but I am so much more than that. So I am going to post those shameful fucking documentaries of parts of my life on my stupid fucking site, Because I hope that some poor fucker who is going through the same, (and it’s interesting how same is close to shame) shit sees my shambles and knows that he (or she though not likely) is not alone. Listen to that album I linked you and my shitty song I DM’d you. Stay up. And drink better whiskey. Ol Grandad awaits.

    • “That song is fucking terrible”

      It’s not “terrible”.

      You just don’t like it.

      Which is fine.

      It’s a great cover, since it’s reinterpreted in a fresh way.

      However, I can see why many won’t like it.

      And why I do enjoy it.

      I’ve a weakness for “biker rock”.

      “However, my family, god bless their living souls, are 4 people, and the rest are dead. THey dont know me, they think I am an alcoholic, but I am so much more than that.”

      You sure as Hell are.

      And I understand more than you’ll ever know.


      “So I am going to post those shameful fucking documentaries of parts of my life on my stupid fucking site, Because I hope that some poor fucker who is going through the same, (and it’s interesting how same is close to shame) shit sees my shambles and knows that he (or she though not likely) is not alone.”

      That’s one of the two reasons I write.

      So I hear you loud & clear.

      “And drink better whiskey. Ol’ Grandad awaits.”

      Heh.

      We should both switch to Old Crow.

      It was the choice of Ulysses S. Grant.

  2. I hope it shouldn’t be mentioned that they going on my blog not a comment. Just saying.

  3. I always went with the black cloud of rain over your head.

    But I’ve learned depression while not fun to experience…is needed at times. I know what it’s like to be very happy and very low…and neither case scares me anymore.

    The hardest part of depression though is to not take it out on others. That takes saint-like self control.

    • “The hardest part of depression though is to not take it out on others. That takes saint-like self control.”

      Agreed, although I’d never say I was “Saint-like”.

      Unless one counts St. Augustine.

      Regardless, I do make a Herculean effort to keep things in check.

  4. Interesting reinterpretation of that song. I still prefer the bluegrass version, but I can see the appeal of this one.

    I think a lot of people who claim to be ‘optimists’ are just papering over reality. Not to pull a Bill Clinton, but it depends on what one means by ‘optimism’.

    • I agree, the bluegrass is better.

      But this version is an excellent example of how a cover should be done.

      Reworked/reimagined to suit the artist doing so.

      Plus, as I confessed, I’ve a weakness for “biker rock”.

      “I think a lot of people who claim to be ‘optimists’ are just papering over reality.”

      Well said; agreed.

  5. […] petting my dog.  At any rate, last night, somehow, I found myself on my computer posting on this post at 80 Proof Oinomancy.  I didn’t understand the post last night, and could only muster enough motor skills to post […]

  6. I have a weakness for sad songs or songs that sound dark.

    For example – Moonlight Sonata and Mad World interpretation by Gary Jules (Think Donnie Darko).

    I wonder if such a disposition is a pre-disposition for oneitis.

    I imagine this sounds off-topic, but I don’t think it is by as much as you might think.

    • I missed the point of this post by a long mark. Only people who hit low points life will get this one to the full extent.

      I can’t imagine how much of a nuisance I’ve been.

      And I was blind to it.

      Wald

  7. […] The important thing is to keep going and do your best. Self medicate if you must, but don’t do anything too rash or crazy. Give yourself time to mourn, but don’t let it derail you. If you do, you’ll find that pain with more pain is not a matter of simple addition, or even a matter of compound interest. Pain increases exponentially. […]

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